


Whatever our souls are made of

by freyjawriter24



Category: Paradise Lost - John Milton
Genre: Gen, Other, angel and demon falling in love, influenced by Paradise Lost, inspired by a writing prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was originally inspired by this post by writing-prompt-s on tumblr:<br/>"You’re a demon. A pretty awful one, might I add. You should have been an angel instead. The other demons constantly harass you for not fitting in or being like them. You end up falling in love with an angel and you have to convince her that you’re not like the others."</p><p>I got a bit carried away and wrote a lot for it. Thought I'd post it here in case anyone wanted to read it.</p><p>Also influenced by Paradise Lost, which I started reading a while ago - if you've read it, you can see it as being set in the same universe. If you haven't, don't worry. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, I got a bit carried away. The angel doesn't arrive until Chapter 3.

It was my fault, I know. I should have really paid more attention to the detailed points of the political debate, but, you know. I was one of those voters that just sorta got swept up in the moment. Like, Lucifer is a fantastic orator. And God doesn’t really do much of his own debating, to be honest. We hardly ever see Him. Not in general, I mean as a species. As a collective. I’ve literally never seem Him personally. He appears every so often, but only to a select few. So you’ve just got the archangels doing the debate for Him. Some of them. Michael and Gabriel and Raphael and Lucifer. The others didn’t really take part. And obviously, just because of my rank and my circle of friends and my job, I know Lucifer better. Well, not _personally_ , but, you know. I still know more _about_ him. And my friends supported him, my co-workers, so I figured, yeah, why not? He seems to know what he’s talking about. And the way he spoke – his arguments made perfect sense. So, yeah. I followed him. Sorry.

I mean, I’ve learned my lesson _now_. But it’s all a bit late now, because it’s gone and happened. Lucifer rebelled, the debate fell apart, a war happened, and we all got thrown out. I mean, I wasn’t even an actual part of the war. I was a _standard bearer_ , for the Lord’s sake. Except, not for the Lord’s sake. For Lucifer’s. That was the problem. Oh, you know what I mean.

So, yeah. We fell. And fell. And kept falling. For ages. Until the Lord God took pity and gave us somewhere to fall to. So we hit the ground, rock bottom. We ended up in Hell. Literally. And then Lucifer did some more talking, except he’s called Satan now, and we broke our chains and built up Hell from the ground, _yaddah, yaddah, yaddah,_ mounted another rebellion against Heaven, _blah, blah, blah,_ Satan tempts humanity, and you know the rest.

And because we’d fallen, we’d lost our grace. And because we lived in Hell, we started losing our angelic features. Some of us lost their wings. All my feathers fell off. A few grew tails. Some nails grew out into claws, some got horns on their heads and on the joints of their wings and elbows. Lots of us, our skin was burned and tanned by the heat down here, and we scar now apparently, so most of us are also red. Like, blood red, deep, almost-black red, rust red, looking-dark-and-mysterious-and-kind-of-cool red. Not me: I’m bright scarlet red. Verging on pink, next to everyone else. I look ridiculous, comical. So, yeah. There’s that.

I’m an awful demon, basically, is what I’m trying to say. I don’t look the part, my heart’s not in it, I just got swept along with everyone and now I’m paying for my ignorance. And, of course, you’re now just thinking ‘yeah, but God’s merciful, He’s all-loving, all-forgiving, He’ll take you back. Just apologise’. Sure, sure. Except we literally rebelled against our own Creator, the society we lived in, and _every single thing in the damned universe_. So no, actually, He’s put a slightly bigger price on our return to Heaven this time. It’s all dependent on Satan. He apologises, he backs down, we all get to go home. If we want. He doesn’t, we’re all stuck here. So, yeah. Great.

I’m a terrible demon. I really should have stayed an angel instead. And it’s horrible, because I don’t really belong in either place. I keep asking to be stationed on Earth, because I figure that’s the middle ground between good and evil and I’m better off there, but the only reason demons get to go to Earth is to tempt humans and to try to get them to sell you their souls, and I’m really terrible at doing that. So I’m stuck here, doing construction work.

Signage, mainly. I’m not the type for heavy lifting, too small and low rank, so I can’t really help actually build anything. But Hell’s constantly expanding – Earth’s population shoots up every year, and they’ve all got to go somewhere when they die, so it’s about 50/50 they end up here. Heaven has it easy, they don’t even know. They have God. Like, I swear that must be what He’s doing the whole time up there, just constantly making Heaven bigger. That’s why we never see Him, He’s too busy. Even St Peter had to get help to man the gates, so I wouldn’t be surprised. But I swear the percentage of souls we get here is going up. Has been for the past few centuries, I think. I mean, according to Satan, it always is, but I reckon that’s just propaganda. I don’t think he’s ever actually looked at the statistics. Maybe I could convince him to get me a job in that? Might give me an opportunity to go to Earth...

But anyway. That’s me. Tiny scarlet awkward demon-angel, with pathetic featherless wings, a few scars, and nothing else to differentiate me from a cherub who’s been dipped in red paint. Damned to Hell for probably forever, because Satan will never give in, and will never get me posted to Earth.

Actually... wait. The statistics idea... is actually very good. Think about it – who needs propaganda when you have actual facts on your side? And I’m 90% sure I’m right about the increase. So all I need is proof. Which would require me to compare the number of souls Hell receives with the number that die, in order to get the number Heaven receives... Which means I would need to be stationed on Earth. Excellent. And I could differentiate the souls sold versus the place in Hell earned – which probably means Satan would implement a quota so all the other demons will hate me, more than they do now – but hey, Satan would appreciate me for it, I wouldn’t just be an annoying pain in the ass for him anymore. I’d actually have a position in Hell. And get to be on Earth. And, in the unlikely event of us ever being able to re-join Heaven, the amount the other demons will hate me, plus the statistical skills I will learn along the way, will mean I actually might get treated ok when we get back. If. And I will work so hard at this, seriously.

That’s it. I’m doing it. I’m going to Satan now. Wish me luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally posted on my tumblr (freyjawriter24), on a reblog of the writing prompt. Take a look at my blog, if you want :)


	2. Chapter 2

I did it. I actually did it. I convinced Satan, Prince of Darkness, King of Hell and the Father of Lies, to send me to Earth to collect the data that will prove Hell is gaining more souls. Yes!

I mean, he was probably glad to finally have a worthwhile excuse to get rid of me, but he at least pretended to be interested in my proposal. And whatever people say about him, he does at least _try_ to give the _appearance_ of fairness and operate a meritocracy, even if it doesn’t always work that way. He could have liked the idea and given it to someone else. He could have said no to avoid seeing me – I will probably need to report back fairly often. But he didn’t. He listened, and then he gave the job to me.

I’m ecstatic. I leave tomorrow. I’m not expected to get results straight away, so I will get a little time to settle in on Earth, to establish a system, figure out how all this is going to work. I first and foremost need to count the number of humans dying, and compare it to Hell’s intake. From there I can start gathering data on number of souls sold, reasons for entering Hell, the beliefs and faiths of those who enter Hell, demographic statistics, all sorts. A lot of work, but very interesting, and definitely worth it.

***

Earth is amazing. It’s so... varied. And colourful.

Hell is dark, all reds and Browns and blacks. Heaven is light, all pastels and shades of white and cream. But Earth... Earth is bright colours, deep blues and vivid purples and vibrant emeralds and shining golds. The white of the snow caps are stark and harsh, not the soft creams of Heaven. The black edges of mountains are cleaner than in Hell, and have more of a rainbow of colours when examined closely. I have never seen such expanses of yellow and orange as are found in the deserts, I have never imagined the kaleidoscope of shades found even in grey rocks. There are beautiful greens in the vegetation, and they are interspersed with incredible pinks and reds and blues and yellows and whites and purples and so much more.

I have felt differences in temperature on this planet that range from far below freezing to halfway back to Hell. But even these are different to the ones I remember from elsewhere – temperature here is controlled by sunlight on your skin, the humidity in the air, the stored heat of rocks and the cooling embrace of fresh running water or dewy morning grass. A precise temperature could be the same in a hundred places, but the feel of it be different in each one. It is intense, but awe-inspiring.

I can’t help but think that He made all this. He can’t possibly be nearly as bad as Satan said, if He has such a range of imagination and emotion to create all this. _But He made it for the humans, and not for us_ is what Satan would say, and it is as if he is stood next to me, the way his words reverberate around the inside of my skull. But right now, with this sense of beauty and awe and pleasure in me, I am unable to believe the spite behind those words. How can one be spiteful, looking at this? How can one ever want to destroy or damage this, diminish its beauty, put any blemish on a planet so diverse?

_The humans_ comes the hateful answer. Unfortunately, true. I can’t deny this one. True, there is beauty in their creations – their cities, their art, the patchwork of their fields, the ingenuity of their inventions. But I have also seen the horrors of their wars, the scars they have carved in these gorgeous landscapes, the depressing headlines on their news articles and the things they do to each other. I have heard children crying, adults screaming, gunshots firing and bombs exploding. I know from living in Hell that fire is often far more painful than it is beautiful. But despite all that, surely, there is still some good to them? The Lord would not protect them so if there was not. And they live on such a wonderful planet.

They deserve it. I have to believe that. Perhaps that means I agree more with God than with Satan on this, but you could also argue their sins are punished by their own works, and that they deserve the Hells-on-Earth that they create, too, and that’s more thinking like a demon. But right now, I have to believe that on some level there is a goodness in humans that means they deserve the happiness and beauty their planet can offer, simply because I cannot cope with the alternative. I suppose my job may change my mind, but for now... We shall see.

***

I’ve managed to get a cabin, on a hill, away from areas of concentrated human activity. I’ve disguised myself as human – no wings, no scars, no red skin. And I’ve started working.

It seems several humans already have quite an interest in statistical analysis. Not specifically concerning souls, though I am still looking. I was easily able to find several large books on the subject, and I’m managing to read through them at a good rate. The scenery around here is perfect for focusing my efforts – the calming influence of the countryside gives me plenty of uninterrupted reading time.

My cabin seems to have everything I need. A comfortable bedroom (not that I really sleep), a spacious living area (for reading at night, or if it rains), a small but functional kitchen (again, not technically necessary), a neat office (perfect for when I actually start gathering my data), and a small, undecorated basement. There is also a tiny toilet, but since I don’t eat, I don’t use that either. I wonder why humans have to do all these extra things in order to function – eat, sleep, excrete. Surely God could have made them like us in that respect – why didn’t He?

I’ve shielded the cabin from both human sight and casual wanderings. If someone fancies a stroll on the hills, they won’t see my house, but they also won’t walk straight into it. So here I am, at last, hidden away from the humans, studying their movements, and appearing to look like one. I am on Earth, I am alone, and I am content. It is not exciting, but it is nice. And it definitely makes a change from walking on fire every day.

Once I’ve read all this material, I will start the real work. Establishing a way to track human deaths across the planet, and attempting to find out the final destinations of their souls. It’s going to be a tough job, but I’m so glad I’m the one that’s doing it.


	3. Chapter 3

“OW!”

Something literally just fell on top of me. Landed on me, knocked me to the ground and is now lying on top of me.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry!”

“What– ow!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry–”

“No, it’s ok, my fault, sorry, I just–”

She didn’t fall. She _appeared_.

I’m standing in front of an angel. We’re both upright now, having disentangled ourselves from a grassy heap on the ground. I can’t stop staring.  
When I say angel, I mean literal angel. I mean, she’s beautiful, and her form is probably what humans would call angelic anyway, but even through her human shape I know that she is a celestial being; a winged, feathered, sent-from-Heaven angel.

And she’s looking at me in a terrifying combination of confusion and determination. She may not know what I truly look like, in this form, but just as I know what she is, she knows what I am. A demon. Her enemy.

“Sorry about that, I sort of, um...”

I’m just standing here, awkwardly apologising for being landed on. What do I even say in this situation?

“Why are you saying sorry?”

At first I think she means that it was her fault for landing on me, so why was _I_ apologising, but then I realise: it’s not just that. I’m a demon – why is that word even in my vocabulary?

“I don’t know, I just, um... Wanted to make sure you’re ok?”

What kind of answer is that?

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

There is a pause. I’m trying to think of something to say. She’s obviously here for a reason. Probably to try to get rid of me. So where do we go from here?

“So, um... What are you doing here?”

The question is stupid, but we have to start somewhere.

“I detected a demonic presence and thought I’d investigate.” Demonic. I’m still not used to being called that.

She smiles slightly. It’s radiant.

“Usually I end up a little way away from the source of the signal, though. Not right on top of you.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that.” There’s another moment’s silence, and then my brain makes a jump and my heart misses a beat.

“I didn’t put up wards!”

“No, apparently not.” She’s stifling a grin. I must be the most inept demon she’s ever come across. Idiot.

“Sorry. I mean, not sorry, that’s probably actually very helpful for you... Ugh, I’m rubbish at this.” I feel like a petulant child as my shoulders drop and I glare angrily at the ground. Then I look up into her face, full of the delicate grace that is so symbolic of Heaven, and I am suddenly worried.

“Please don’t send me back to Hell.”

She’s looking at me like I’m insane now.

“Why not?”

“I just got out. I’ve been here – what? – less than a month? Please don’t send me back, I like it here, I’ve wanted to come here since... Well, probably since I first _got_ to Hell. And Satan would be angry with me, and I’d never get to try again, and... Just please don’t?”

An angel’s frown is a strange expression. It’s unnatural, like a grimace on a child – the face is too innocent to hold such a negative emotion. She can’t comprehend a demon who hates Hell. Then her face clears – maybe she can? After all, it makes sense from the point of view that God originally created it, and He wants us to return to Heaven. I can almost see her mind working.

“I won’t yet.” I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. “But that’s not indefinite. Tell me what you’re doing here first. I can’t let you stay if you’re going to be a danger.”

I straighten my back at that. I’m tiny next to her, tilting my chin up to look her in the eye. She has gorgeous, clear amber eyes. Like actual beads of fossilised tree resin, with a light shining through to highlight the colour.

I wonder what rank she is. Does she really have the authority to let me stay? Surely all demons are meant to be sent back to Hell, regardless of their purpose on Earth? Or maybe they’re keeping a controllable few, to maintain humanity’s free will in the choice of the destination of their souls.

I decide to tell the truth. It’s got the best chance of keeping me here, the best chance of sounding realistic, and I’ve never been particularly good at keeping track of lies, or making stuff up at a believable rate. Here goes nothing.

“I’m collecting statistics. On human souls.”

The ‘are you insane’ look is back. I should probably explain myself a bit more. I pick up the book I was reading from where it had been knocked to the floor, brush off the grass and show her the cover. STATISTICS, in bright blue lettering.

“I want to count how many souls are leaving Earth to compare it to how many go to Hell. So that we can tell what proportion of the Earth’s population is ending up there, and how many are going to Heaven. And over time we should be able to see if Hell’s portion, or Heaven’s, is growing, or if they’re staying about the same. Does that make sense?”

She hesitates for a moment, considering whether to believe me.

“Yes,” she says slowly. “It makes sense in that I understand what you mean. But I’m not sure it _makes sense_ as a concept”.

Yeah, I know. I do a kind of awkward half-shrug.

“I suppose you think a demon calculating statistics doesn’t quite fit with the whole ‘Father of Lies’ image Satan’s got going.”

“That’s part of it, yes.”

“Then what’s the rest of it?”

“You’re a demon.” No hesitation this time. Don’t be shy about it. Just slap me in the face again, keep reminding me, that’s it.

“So I can’t do maths?”

“No, so… Shouldn’t you be doing demon things? Tempting humans, buying souls, that sort of thing?”

“Well, to be fair I think Satan intends to use the statistics to start up a quota on souls bought…” I trail off as she stares at me sceptically.

“Look, I’m not very good at being a demon, ok? I’m not like the others. I think it was just the first plausible excuse to get me out of their hair that would actually be vaguely productive.”

“You’re a demon who doesn’t like doing demon stuff? Then why are you a demon?”

“I kind of just… followed the crowd.” I shrug again. “I’m not proud of it. But, here I am, stuck now. Can’t be helped.”

She doesn’t believe me. How can someone fall from grace without really meaning it? But I suppose I did, back then. I really meant that I wanted to follow Lucifer, because I really got what he was saying, I really believed it. I just didn’t listen to the other side of the debate, I got swept up in it all. So I meant it, I just didn’t know _what_ I was meaning. How do I explain that to her?

“Look, I get that you’re finding this hard to believe, but I really don’t like being a demon, I really, really don’t want to go back to Hell, and I promise not to be a nuisance on Earth. Please.”

She sighs.

“I’m not the only one patrolling Earth, you know. If someone else finds you, they’ll send you back to Hell. Angels aren’t exactly massive fans of demons loitering on Earth.”

“Yeah, well, the other demons aren’t exactly massive fans of me either. I’d rather face the angels.” I’m speaking without thinking. Idiot. Now she’s going to ask what I mean, and I’m going to look pathetic.

“Why do you say that? Are they not your kin?” Basically, why in the Lord’s name would you rather face beings bent on sending you back to the worst place in the universe, literal Hell, than be with other beings like you, with a shared past?

Deep breath.

“Well, I mean... It’s nothing, really, just some jokes or whatever. It’s fine, really, they’re just messing around.” Like that’s going to put her off. She’s an angel, for the Lord’s sake.

“What did they say?” I can’t stop myself from meeting her eyes, just for a moment. They’re full of concern, beautiful and gentle and... well, angelic. All angels have that quiet, easy grace, but there is something else to her that seems to distance her from them. I wonder again what rank she is and try to remember whether rank and beauty correlated in Heaven. I never really noticed while I was there.

I break eye contact.

“Nothing, really, it was just... It was just a joke, one time, and I know it’s not true, I know they were only joking, but... still.”

“What joke?” There’s no resisting her. I sigh.

“It was just this one time, one of the demons mentioned that Satan had said... He’d apparently said that he’d be willing to apologise and seek the Lord’s forgiveness and then rebel again, just so that he wouldn’t have to have me around in Hell.”

I snatch a look. She looks horrified, this was such a bad idea, how tiny and pathetic and irritating must she see you as now, you idiot?

“But, I mean, obviously it was a joke, he didn’t _really_ say that, and I don’t mind anyway, they’ve probably got a point, I can be a little annoying, and–” I’m garbling, speaking way too fast, not making any sense. At this point I’d quite happily have the Earth open up below me and swallow me whole to escape this, or even have Satan himself grab me and dump me back in Hell. I’m such a moron.

“That’s awful!”

I stop. The words sound sincere. I dare to look back up at her, meet her gaze.

Her gemstone eyes are shining – she’s not crying, thank the Lord, but she looks like she could. Pity. Brilliant. Why did I mention this?

“I’m so sorry for the way you’ve been treated. It’s genuinely horrible. I would have thought demons would at least have the decency to be nice to their own brethren, but...” The way she trails off, looking over my shoulder at the sky, eyes glazed... She’s trying to understand. She can’t comprehend it.

Her eyes flick back to mine, and then it hits me. That’s not pity – that’s empathy. She does not merely sympathise with my suffering – she feels it, she actually cares.  
The capacity of emotion of this angel truly astonishes me. I had forgotten all this, or perhaps I never had it to her extent. I feel a rush of gratitude and relief.

“Thank you,” I find myself saying, quietly and awkwardly.

Her beautiful face frowns slightly.

“What for?”

“For understanding,” I say simply.

She smiles again, that gentle, radiant smile, and I feel a warmth I haven’t known in what seems like an eternity – it is not the dull heat of Hell, nor the adequate climes of Heaven, but more akin to temperatures found here on Earth – the calm embrace of evening sunlight on a warm summer’s day. But it is not on my skin, it does not heat my back – I feel it inside, a building haven of comfort in my chest, like she is touching my very soul. If I had one.

We don’t speak for a while after that, just stand there, looking at each other in mutual uncertainty, trying to understand one another fully without words. After an hour or so, I motion for her to follow and I sit on the edge of the hilltop outside my new cabin. She joins me, and we sit there, gazing out across Earth’s landscape. For the first time in far too long, I feel calm, serene, secure. It feels like coming home.


	4. Chapter 4

Angels and demons are natural enemies. They were created the same, but one set rebelled and fell and changed, and they now represent polar opposites. But good and evil was never a binary system. It’s not even a simple spectrum – you can be good or evil in different ways. It’s a continuum, a mess of sin and virtue and everything in between.

Apparently that applies to angels and demons too. I am a terrible demon, but does that not make me closer to good? And she may be the perfect angel, but she also allowed me to stay on Earth – what does that make her? Perhaps, once we arrive on Earth, we all end up with a bit of humanity in us. This places changes things, that I know for certain. It broadens your perspective, opens you up to a whole lot more. There is more to see here, more to feel, more to touch and hear and smell. I can run through waterfalls and grassy fields, I can climb mountains and swim down trenches, or I can just sit under the clear night sky, staring up and out at all God’s creation, the stars and galaxies visible from Earth, feeling the turn of the planet, the changes in the weather, the shifting of the continents, the constantly-moving, ever-altering, beautiful, ridiculous, amazing midpoint between good and evil, truth and lies, sin and virtue, Heaven and Hell.

I am not her enemy. I refuse to be. She is everything I want to be, everything I wish I still was. But I do not blame her for my mistakes as the other demons do, I do not exhibit vicious jealousy towards her. I can’t. I don’t know why, it’s just how I am. Like I said, I’m a terrible demon. I hope I can prove it to her.

She came back again, a day after that strange afternoon on the hilltop. I couldn’t focus on my work, just kept thinking about her the whole time, wondering whether that was the last of it all, whether I’d see her again. And then she came back.

I don’t know which was more awkward, the first meeting where neither of us knew what to do, or the second when we didn’t know where we stood. I wondered whether she felt she had committed a sin by letting me stay; I wondered whether she was going to make me leave. Maybe she was wondering that, too. But she didn’t make me leave – she asked if she could stay.

“I mean, I still need to check up on you, make sure you’re doing what you say you’re doing and not wreaking havoc everywhere. But also… in between patrols, it gets lonely. I rarely see any other angels, and if I do it’s only for a short while, because we’re meant to be spaced out. It’s just nice to have some company, once in a while. It’s so lonely here, in comparison to Heaven.”

It was strange, having an angel stand in front of me, asking _me_ of all people for something, even something so small as companionship. Is that a small request?

“Don’t you like it here?”

“Oh, of course I do, it’s such an honour to view His creation up close, and you can’t deny his ingenuity. But sometimes… it feels too much to experience on your own. You need someone to see it with, to talk to about it, to understand what you’re feeling. I’m so used to having people around me all the time, it’s hard to adjust to the isolation here.”

“See, I’m the opposite. I quite like being here, without the hundreds and hundreds of others around constantly talking and asking you things and expecting you to do things, it’s exhausting. I like the quiet.”

“Oh.” I glanced at her face, and it was unexpectedly downcast, and I realised what she thought I meant.

“But it is nice to have company,” I said quickly. “There’s a difference between having one or two friends around in an otherwise lonely place, and living in constant association with other people.”

“Is that what it’s like in Hell? People everywhere, always commanding you to do things?”

“Is that not what it’s like in Heaven?”

She stopped short at that, thinking.

“I suppose it is,” she said slowly, drawing out the train of thought. “But I was never unhappy with it.”

“No,” I mused. “Neither was I, at the time. I was not expressly _happy_ , I suppose. Just content. Comfortable, but not ecstatic. And then Hell was just the same, nothing had changed, except people were ruder and asking me to do things I didn’t want to. And then they realised I was rubbish at the things they wanted me to do, so eventually they gave up and just gave me one job, and even though there were still people everywhere, they mostly just ignored me. And, to be honest, I preferred that.”

There was a moment of silence, where we each followed our own trains of thought.

“But I like Earth much better. It’s peaceful, and yet elsewhere there is always stuff happening, so you can enjoy a bit of everything. You can feel the bustle of everything, but you can also escape to a more tranquil location. But yes, it can be lonely.”

“Do you want me to stay?” She looked uncertain, ready to leave if I wanted to, ready to stay if I preferred it. _If I preferred it._ She cared about me, what I thought and wanted, and that meant a lot. I didn’t feel quite so distanced, so separated from her in that moment.

“Yes, if you want to.”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

And then there was a wash of easy peace between us, a feeling of comfort and mutual acceptance, and it wasn’t just a truce between warring parties, it was a friendship between individuals of opposing yet strangely allied nations.

On Earth, it appears, Heaven and Hell don’t matter. Only people do.

And we are just two people, sat together, as friends. Any human looking would assume we were like them – two humans, on Earth, enjoying each other’s company. Perhaps we were.

***

I’ve put up the wards now, around the cabin. I’d already hidden it from human sight, but now pretty much everyone is kept out, except me. I didn’t really want to put up the angel wards, in the end, but it seemed counter-productive not to – like she’d said, she’s not the only angel on Earth. But she showed me where to put them, and how strong, so that she couldn’t enter the cabin itself, but if I sat on the rim of the hilltop, overlooking the valley, the field was just weak enough that she could spot me if she was looking, but other angels wouldn’t notice unless they were doing more than a general sweep.

This is where I live now. It’s not much, but it’s Earth. And I love it.


	5. Chapter 5

She keeps visiting, every now and again. I wondered if she just wanted to check up on my progress, maybe relay my findings back to Heaven before even Satan saw them, but she hardly ever asks about my work. We just sit on the hillside and talk – about Heaven, Hell, Earth, the things we’ve seen on this amazing planet. She’s seen more of Earth than me, but I’ve seen more of the universe than her. I tell her what Hell is really like to live in, she tells me what Heaven’s like now. Nothing much has changed. They still rarely ever see God, it’s still all in pastel colours, it’s still constantly, perfectly calm. There have been no debates since Lucifer left – whether because they are too afraid of the outcome, or simply that now the Lord’s authority has been challenged and He won, there’s nothing else to discuss.

Right now, we’re sat on the grass, watching the tiny movements of the valley below.

“I’ve just realised – all this talking, and I don’t even know your name.”

I look sideways at her. She’s the one asking, she can go first.

“I’m Teniel,” she says, unfazed by my silence. “What’s your name?”

I’m at another river crossing with no bridge; time to take a leap of faith, then sink or swim.

“I don’t have one.”

“What? Not at all?”

“Not anymore. When we fell, we lost our old names. We discarded them, as Hell says, or lost our right to them, as Heaven would say. Lucifer became Satan. I became no one. I was never given a second name.”

“So what did they call you?”

“‘That one’, usually, I think.” I’d only overheard it a couple of times, but the response was always enough that it was clear they meant me, and the term was not used in a positive way.

“That’s awful.” She’s frowning out over the countryside, and I want to say something to make her stop, because I don’t like seeing her unhappy. Especially if it’s over me. I’m not worth that.

“Well, in that case, what was your name in Heaven? Your angelic name?”

I look up at her with a start. I’m not supposed to… am I? Was there ever any law against it? Clearly not, if she’s asking me. I suppose Satan was just trying to be symbolic. Ok, then…

“Miltakiel,” I say quietly, as if I’m afraid someone else will hear me from here.

She rolls my name around on her tongue, practising it, remembering it. I haven’t heard it said aloud since I fell. It feels strange, but also infinitely comforting. She speaks it so softly, gently, that I know she will take care of it. It may be the name of a demon, but she wouldn’t spit it like she might Satan. Not that I’ve ever heard her angry.

***

We stay awhile on the grassy hilltop. It’s peaceful and solitary, and yet neither of us are lonely, because we have each other. Worlds apart, yet right now both far from our places of origin, sharing what little we have with each other. Looking at us, we even look alike – both human, to a human’s view. And yet we are so different.

Being with her like this is strange. It doesn’t feel _wrong_ , necessarily, just not quite right. I used to be like her, or more like her, in some way, but now I’m so different... I don’t fit with the angels anymore. So long I’ve been like this, so many speeches back in Hell about how we’re so far removed from angels, I don’t feel like I am one anymore. And yet I don’t want to be a demon either. I don’t fit with them, behave like them, think like them, even properly look like them. But if I’m not angel and I’m not demon, what am I? Where do I fit?

Maybe I belong on Earth; after all, it is the middle ground.

But there’s something else, too. Being with her has made me think more about Heaven. Before I came to Earth, I thought I had a longing to go back there. Maybe I do, but now I think I like Earth more, and I’m at least happy enough here that I don’t mind the likelihood I won’t return anymore, not like I minded in Hell. But I’ve realised something else – my longing isn’t so much directed at Heaven anymore, it’s at _her_. I want to be with her. All the time.

I haven’t had or felt friendship in half an eternity, and now I’ve found it again. But this feels like more than that, I want it to be more than that. I don’t know whether she feels the same, or even if she could. After all, I’m not sure I’m even the same species as her anymore. If she knew what I really looked like... I’d rather stay human. I’d rather _be_ human.

I’m fine with us the way we are. Not going anywhere, just happy to sit together, telling stories or listening to the turn of the Earth. I don’t expect anything more. And even though I’d like something deeper than friendship, I won’t push it. I’d rather this than nothing at all.


	6. Chapter 6

“So if I can continue to gather this information over a longer period of time, I can identify averages and changes in the percentages. I’ve already got the basic rate covered, and I’ve asked for them to send me what they have on souls directly bought by Hell, so I can start a comparison on that, too.”

I’m showing her my work, my research. I’m getting there, slowly. I’ve established my method, and it’s working, but I need to be able to gather more detailed information.

She seems vaguely interested, but not enthralled. I close my books and put the paperwork aside.

We are sat on the grass again, same old spot, on the hilltop overlooking the valley. I was out here to work, but she was passing through and saw me, so I showed her what I was doing. I don’t even mind if she reports it back to Heaven, though I’m not sure she would. I just like being with her.

“How’re your patrols going?” I ask steadily.

“Same as usual,” she says. She seems distant somehow, thinking of something else. “Very little demonic activity in my area, though there was a disturbance in an area adjacent to here. I suppose since I got assigned to an area with few humans, there’s always going to be fewer demons here too.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” She is quiet for a while.

I pack up my things and put them back in the cabin, giving her time. She stays there while I move about, and is still staring out over the landscape when I sit back down.  
I don’t dislike silence, but I know there is something she wants to say. So I break it.

“Is everything ok?” I question tentatively.

She sighs gently, a breath smoothly expanding into the air, spreading out with a slow, clean motion. Everything about angels is the pinnacle of perfection, even sighs. Or maybe, now I’m not one of them, that’s just how I see her.

“Where do you feel home is?”

It’s not a question I was expecting to be asked, and not one I know a simple answer to.

“I’m not sure,” I say honestly. “Not Hell, never that, but I’m not sure Heaven either. I definitely don’t belong there now, but I’m not convinced I ever did.”

“Do you think we’re home? Now? Here?”

I think for a moment.

“Yes,” I say slowly. “I think we might be.”

Is home a place, or a person? I have heard humans say it is not the house you come home to, but the people in it that matter. I have heard them talk of the memories that build a home, not the walls of the building those memories are housed in.

In either case, place or person, the answer is yes. Here, now, on Earth, with each other. Yes, I consider this home.


	7. Chapter 7

We’ve been talking about Heaven and Hell, about lava and fresh air, about different sorts of fire. None of it is the same as what is found here on Earth, but it is not necessarily better or worse, just different. We agree that Earth is more free, to a certain extent – after all, that is the point; the humans have been given free will, and can choose where their souls end up by what they do. But it is also freer in terms of its vivacity, its variety. We both agree it’s a more interesting place to live.

But now she’s just asked me something out of the blue.

“Earth is freer, I grant you, but in that case why are we hiding in human bodies?”

_Oh no._ I know where this is headed.

“So that the humans don’t see our true forms.” _Right now, so that you don’t see mine._

“Well, yes, but… why? They have been told of our existence, why should we hide? And right now, here, there are no humans around for miles. Why should we still be hiding as we are at the moment?”

“I suppose we hide from the humans because we are told to. ‘The Lord wills it so’,” I say. “I mean, for _us_ it makes sense to some extent – if they don’t know we’re demons, they’re less likely to say no, easier to tempt. For you… maybe it’s something to do with blind faith? They have to believe in angels regardless of whether they’ve seen you or not, you know?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” She is quiet for a moment, as if thinking through what I’ve said, but I know she is really thinking how to phrase her next question.

“But why are we still hiding now?”

_Why?_ I want to ask. _Why do you want to see me? Can’t we stay like this?_ In human form, we are on equal footing. In our own bodies, she will outshine me in every degree, and I will be reminded of everything I lost.

But I say nothing, because I can’t properly explain how I feel to her. She does not know what it is to fall, to lose your grace, to feel that shame. How can I describe it? How can I make her understand?

She sees my silence for what it is; unwillingness. But she does not understand why.

“You don’t want to change back. Why not? There’s no one else around for miles, I have checked.”

“It’s not that. It’s not the humans.”

She is gentle, calm: “Then what?”

I hesitate, then bite the bullet.

“It’s you,” I say, meeting her beautiful amber eyes. They remind me again of my fear – her beauty against my broken ugliness. I couldn’t bear it.

“I don’t want you to see me how I am. Because I’m ugly. As humans, it doesn’t matter – we can be anyone we want to be. But in our real forms… I’m not ready for that.”

“But I know how you are – you’ve told me. I know you are scarred, I know your skin is burnt red, I know you have no feathers. Me seeing you isn’t going to change my opinion of you, just let me be able to picture you as you really are.”

I nod at the floor, because I can’t say anything else. I don’t want her to picture me as I ‘really am’. I want _this_ to be who I really am.

“I know you are flawed,” she says, brushing my hand with her delicate fingers. I meet her eyes.

“I know you see yourself as damaged. But God’s punishment is often very literal – the physical scars you have are supposed to represent the scars to your inner being. And I like your inner being. I am friends with that person, even though I know they are a demon. So if the scars on the outside reflect the inside, so be it. It won’t matter to me.”

I feel like an autumn leaf in the wind, struggling to break free from its twig; a puppy cowering in the corner, too overcome by emotion and everything going on around it to know how to react; a pebble on the rim of an active volcano, waiting for the eruption. Inside I am shaking, shivering, nervous and terrified. I don’t know what to do.

On the outside I sit, captivated by her eyes and her soothing words, and I nod again.

“I’ll go first, if you want,” she says.

I am silent. I am scared.

She stands up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning for demonic self-hatred.

Her wings stretched out almost further than I could take in in one look, her wingspan more than double her height. Each feather was delicately rimmed with a touch of bronze, a shade which perfectly complimented her skin tone. Her eyes blazed bright amber, just as they did in her hidden, human form. Her dark brown hair, shaken loose, spread out around her head and shoulders in curls, so soft-looking I suddenly had the strange urge to touch it, if it weren’t for the fact I was painfully aware of the roughness of my own hands. Somehow, she had ended up standing directly in front of the setting sun, so that while the shadow she cast meant I could still see her perfectly clearly, there was a fiery outline along the top of her head; I suddenly understood the meaning behind the humans’ concept of a halo. She looked fierce and strong, yet calm and gentle. An unstoppable force of beauty and kindness; a true angel. She looked completely divine.

How could I show myself to her after that? After such a display of perfection, she wanted me to demonstrate my demonic form, my scarred limbs and featherless wings. Had I been in Hell, with demons all around me, I would have had nothing to fear, for while my skin is a ridiculous shade of red, I at least am not so heavily altered from my angelic state as the others are. I had never feared being seen there, and in all my dreams of returning to Heaven I did so among a crowd of other demons that would draw more stares than me, so I did not fear being seen there either. But here... Alone, with her intense scrutiny focused only on me, looking over every inch of my tortured body, reddened and scarred and destroyed. I could not do it.

I ran. Not before I had basked in her glow for a considerable time, not before she had again returned to her more human form – simply folding her wings away out of existence, but keeping those burning amber eyes – but once she had stepped towards me, smiling, reaching out a hand.

I could not do it. I stepped backwards, stumbled over my own feet, and then left her there. I ran, as a human would, not flying as a spirit could, for I am nothing in comparison to her. I reached the cabin, threw myself into the darkest corner of the basement, and hid. It was only then I realised my cheeks were damp, and I prayed she hadn’t seen me cry.

I sobbed. Humans can create a seemingly endless amount of tears, and I must have cried out half my body weight with them. I cried until my eyes hurt, until my nose was streaming, until my lungs strained from the ragged, hysterical breathing I was putting them through, until I had no energy left. Then I collapsed.

Even there, in the blackest depths of that room, in the deepest caverns of my misery, the closest thing to Hell on Earth I had ever found for myself, I could not change back. I did not want to feel the rough contact between the skin of my wings and my back. I did not want to see red hands, bloodshot eyes in a mirror, clawed toes instead of nails on my feet.

I could not stand the horror I knew her face would show when she really saw me. I have warned her before; she would try to hide it. But I know I would not be able to bear the look of concealed disgust, the revulsion, the pity. I cannot stand pity. I couldn’t change.

***

Out of the darkness, a voice. I cower away from it, even though it is soft, warm, calming, loving. Even though it brings peace and safety, even though it offers forgiveness, mercy, friendship.

I am underserving of that voice. I am a demon.

“Please, Miltakiel,” she says, and I feel tears seep from my human eyes again. She used my angelic name.

“I won’t force you. You don’t have to do it. I am sorry if you ever thought you had no choice. Please, come out.”

I cannot face her, not now.

Minutes pass. I can feel her presence there, hovering outside the cabin, pressing against the wards as far as she can, but still unable to enter the building.

I feel her sigh, gentle on the wind.

“You can have some time. I will leave. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” As if there was anything to forgive. It was my fault, me, all me, and there was nothing I could do to change that. She would have pitied me had I shown her, and she will pity me now I cannot. All I can hope for is that she will not hate me for running. I hope she can forgive me.

I feel her leave. A whisper of her presence echoes on the wind. _I miss you._ I wonder if that is the last time I will see her.

I’m a demon, and a coward. My only friend is an angel, who I may now have lost for eternity. I do not fit in in Hell, have been cast out of Heaven, and the one place I felt at home, on Earth, I do not truly belong to, because of my burnt skin and naked wings. I cannot pretend to be human, no matter how hard I try.


	9. Chapter 9

I’m sitting out on the hillside, far enough in the open that she’ll notice me. I don’t know if she’ll come, though. I’m not sure I would, if I was her. I wouldn’t blame her.

I’m watching the landscape. It really is beautiful. I still can’t quite get over that. After the darkness of Hell and the comparable blandness of Heaven, it just seems so vibrant. I understand exactly why He made Earth, sitting here. Even just to bring a new colour into existence, it was worth it.

She’s here. I can feel her beside me. I can’t look at her, not after what I did. I can’t turn towards her, so I don’t know whether she’s looking at me or the view. I don’t know which I’d prefer. At the view could mean she’s decided to ignore what happened, but maybe that means our friendship is still broken. Or maybe she physically can’t look at me. In that case I’m screwed. At me maybe means she’s forgiven me, but also maybe she’s trying to see what I look like underneath. Or trying to decide what to do with me. I’m still a demon. She’s still an angel. She could banish me from Earth, and I wouldn’t stop her. I don’t deserve to be here.

Neither of us are talking. The sun is creeping across the sky towards the horizon, and we’re not saying a word. What does that mean?

I want to apologise, I want to run away again, I want to hide somewhere no one will ever see me again, I want to rest my head on her shoulder. I want to touch the feathers on her wings... I want to go home. All this, it’s too much. It’s gone on too long. But I don’t know where home is anymore. It can’t be Heaven now, and it’s certainly not Hell, but I’m not sure it’s Earth either. Maybe it’s a distant concept, in the past. Maybe it’s not a place, but how you feel. I used to feel safe in Heaven, secure, at peace. I’ve never felt even close to that way in Hell, and I may have felt happy on Earth, but I don’t belong. Perhaps home _was_ in Heaven, but that space isn’t there for me anymore. Perhaps home is leaning into her side with her arm around me. But I’ve never been there. And perhaps never will.

The sky is approaching dusk. The sun is hovering just above the horizon line, millimetres away from meeting it. I count down silently, waiting until it touches. _Three... Two... One._

Deep breath. Do it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper out into the cool evening air. She doesn’t respond, but I can hear her long, soft exhale floating on the breeze. I wonder how long she’s been holding it in.

“I didn’t know what to do, I just don’t... I don’t look anything like you anymore. It’s one thing to show your true form as an angel, but... Looking how I do now? I couldn’t.” I pause for breath. She still isn’t speaking. I can’t bring myself to look at her.

“I’m sorry I ran. It was... suddenly all just too much, you know? I thought I’d gotten used to looking like this, but I realise no angel has ever actually seen me this way, and since I’d taken human form... I could pretend it wasn’t that bad, that I was normal, even. That I still had feathers on my wings. I could lie to myself. But then you showed me yours, and you were just so... magnificent. Beautiful. Perfect. And you wanted to see me, and I’m the exact opposite of those things – a tomato-red, scarred, featherless monster. And I couldn’t do it. The comparison was just too… sharp.”

I look away from the view and down at my human-shaped feet. The toes on these are almost what they used to be, when I was in Heaven. How I look now, though... If I took the disguise off, the nails would grow and thicken, the skin would redden, and you would see the scar tissue on my ankles. If she took hers off, the only difference would probably be that her skin would seem to glow. Not literally, angels aren’t night-lights, but... That ethereal quality that humans don’t have, that would show through.

She speaks, and my breath catches in my throat.

“The funny thing is that I thought, if you saw me, you’d realise you don’t have anything to hide. Because I’m _not_ perfect. I’m not the most beautiful angel, I’m not even close. I never really thought about it in Heaven, I suppose, but here on Earth... I think it gives you a new perspective. Changes things. I saw myself differently, after I arrived here. Back in Heaven, when they were teaching human disguises, they told me I only needed to hide my wings, not mask my eyes like some of the others. I had colleagues with fire in their irises, with running water, or glowing coal. Mine were just amber, so dull they look almost human anyway, so there was no need to hide them. Back then it didn’t bother me, it just sounded understandable, common sense. But here? On Earth, I remembered it, and I saw it in a different light. Every tiny thing they said to me, every half-mention... I realised the truth. I’m not as stunning as other angels, I don’t have the qualities they have. I thought you might see that when you saw me, and think that if I could show myself to you, then you would know it was ok... to not be perfect. To be different.”

I pause, not so much as a hesitation as to let the words sink in, the silence fill up so that we can both fully understand and accept what she has said, before I respond.

“And here I was thinking that your eyes were the most beautiful of any angel I’ve ever seen.” The truth has a habit of slipping out, sometimes, unbidden. Her words have broken the spell, so I turn and look at her. I find myself staring into those incredible eyes, and I mean every word.

It’s not a magical moment, but it is a beautiful one. Our fingertips touch, hidden by the grass. _Human._ We hold each other’s gaze – moments, minutes, hours – then turn in unison to watch the stars appear. This time the silence is calm, peaceful, full of things that will be said, in time, not those left unsaid, that should have been said, or that were fighting to be said.

I take a breath. In the cool night air, as the sun disappears over the horizon line, in the pale yellow glow it leaves behind, before night has truly fallen, I change form.

She notices straight away. I don’t look, and neither does she.

She changes too. I feel the breeze of her spreading wings, feel a feather lightly brush the tip of one of my own extra limbs. We both continue to look straight ahead.

Suddenly we are no longer just two humans sat on a hilltop, watching the sky. Suddenly we are two celestial beings of opposing tribes, exiled to the no-man’s-land we call Earth, sat together – not truce, not alliance, merely friends – hovering around the words we want to say.

I feel the cold settle over the old burns on my skin, the night air beginning to seep into the stretched skin of my wings, unprotected by down. It cannot hurt me, this temperature. Not physically, anyway. But I notice, all the same. I feel it. I know what this sensation should be like, know how she must be feeling the breeze through her feathers, her heart cushioned by the warmth of her intact grace. The very tips of my fingers are on fire next to hers, hardly touching on the ground.

Her voice is soft; it does not pierce the silence, just gently washes it away.

“You are not broken. You are you. You have been through some things, but haven’t we all? Any blemishes on your skin are signs you have lived; any scars can be seen as stories, as beauty spots of where things went wrong, where you have grown from. You have lived, lost, hurt, and learnt. You may not see yourself as perfect, but no one truly is. But what you are is perfectly you. You are you.”

My eyes sting, and the stars blur together. I put a hand up to brush away the salt – tears, how very human, even though I’m not – and I see something I did not expect.

My hand. It is gnarled and scarred and twisted and clawed. But it is not red.

I glance down my body. It has faded – gone is the angry scarlet skin of a tortured soul, constantly subjected to the fires of Hell, and in its place…

I say nothing. I am still a demon, still nothing like the angel beside me. But I am nothing like those in Hell either. My skin is stony, grey-brown, of the earth. I am of Earth. I am home.

I look to the angel at my side, and she looks back at me. Eyes aflame, but with a stone found here, on these strange shores, not with the fires of Heaven or Hell. The bronze of her skin and her wings are earthy, the curl of her hair is natural, wild, untamed, beautiful. She is symbolic of Earth, just as I am. We belong here, now, nowhere else.

I smile, and she smiles back. We comprehend. We know.

Our eyes part, and move up to the skies. Up, further up, until we are craning our necks. We stretch our backs, spread our wings, feel the movement of the Earth – the wind in our wings, the planet’s turn, the thousand tiny movements of the grass and the ants and the amoebas under us, everything.

And then we settle again. But now we are closer, folded legs touching, closed wings still brushing, hands overlapping, not just nearby.

We have time. So much of it. All of it. Until the end of the universe, we could stay here.

Two celestial beings. Two imperfect ones. Neither the best images of our respective peoples, but each perfectly ourselves. Sat on the grass together, fallen, on Earth, not Hell or Heaven.

***

We have found each other. We have found a sanctuary, a home. We can be ourselves, show our faults and flaws, and be proud of them. We can love, in whichever way we want, and be at peace. We have found what others may only dream of on Earth, and what is so rare to ever feel anywhere off Earth. We have found in each other a person who loves us because of our flaws, not in spite of them. We have found that opposites do not have to clash to be together, they can complement. We have found that good and evil, virtue and vice, are not as simply disparate as they seem. We have found a complex spectrum of ourselves, a mixture of purity and imperfectness, and we are happy.


End file.
